Moonlight on the Snow
by illuminata79
Summary: New Year's Eve of 1930 is one that will not quickly be forgotten in Mick's family.
1. Full Moon

Mick is glad to be back home in Maine after having had a lovely family Christmas while his mother and Dan are looking forward to celebrating New Year's Eve with a bunch of friends and the girls are missing their big brother terribly, even if he's only been gone for a few days. Alice is thinking about her son once again as she is getting ready for the party.

(In case anyone wonders why alcohol is served at a 1930 New Year's Eve celebration: Missouri was very late to introduce Prohibition - according to Wikipedia, as late as 1934. I have to say that writing fan fiction can be pretty educational!)

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><p>Alice climbed out of the bathtub and towelled herself dry. She had been cold all day long and had allowed herself the luxury of a hot bath before she would get ready for the New Year's Eve party she and Dan were going to attend tonight. Alfred and Sandra Cooper had invited them to join their traditional celebration again. Alice didn't really feel like going out in the snow and cold, but the Coopers were longtime friends, and wasn't it often that you ended up enjoying those events most that you hadn't really wanted to attend in the first place?<p>

She slipped on her dressing gown and walked over into the bedroom. The girls were bickering with each other in their room down the corridor. Alice heaved a sigh. Since their brother was gone, both Jess and Janie were unbearable – Jess constantly defiant, Janie permanently tearful.

Mick had left the Monday after Christmas. Alice's heart had been heavy when she saw him board the train. She knew her son would never come back for more than a few precious days. He had chosen his way of living, and she had very slowly come to accept that it was a much simpler way than she'd had in mind for him.

She had to admit that his choice seemed to suit him very well. There was a new quality to him, something grown-up, a calm contentment with his life, a freshly found self-confidence. She wouldn't say she was proud of the profession he had opted for – the missed chance at an academic career still did rankle with her sometimes – but she was glad that, finally, her eldest appeared to be truly happy with his life.

She had been surprised that he had grown even taller, marvelled at the golden-bronze shimmer his smooth skin had even at this time of year, wondered when exactly the boy had turned into a man. For that was what he was now, a broad-shouldered young man, lean but muscular, strong arms straining the fabric of his shirts, good-looking in a rather unconventional way. Those piercing green eyes that seemed to change colour all the time, a clean-cut face with pronounced high cheekbones and a mouth any woman who was not his mother couldn't call anything but sensual.

Her mother had made some implications of a tender summer romance with Ruth Wilson's little niece a while ago, and Alice was delighted that this was still going on. She smiled at the thought of her handsome son walking hand in hand with a pretty girl and wondered idly how long this might last. You never knew with teenage love, but hadn't she married her first sweetheart herself and never regretted her choice?

Mick had not talked much about his girlfriend, but the few times he mentioned her, a dreamy, tender expression had softened his features, and once or twice a bashful little blush had coloured his cheeks when she or Dan had asked a question about Eliza. She was enchanted to see that the sweet magic of first love had finally touched upon her son and hoped the girl wouldn't disappoint him. He was not one to give his heart away easily, and she wanted his trust in that girl to be rewarded.

Alice picked up the carved lighthouse from her dressing table, gently drew a caressing finger over its surface. Mick had instinctively selected the perfect motif for his carving. She wasn't sure if Mick was aware of the fact, but the path around the lighthouse had always been her and Henry's favourite route for a walk. And it had been there that he had asked her to marry him.

A small, sad smile crossed her face. Would she ever stop grieving for him?

She knew she would not. And wouldn't it feel wrong to stop missing the love of your life? The stab of pain she kept experiencing when she thought of Henry, wasn't it the one and only link with him she still had?

Except for their son, of course.

She set the small lighthouse back on the top of the dressing table, next to one of the wedding photos that sat there. It depicted a very young bride, hardly more than a girl, tiny and a little shy in her dress and veil, while the bridegroom looked proudly and freely into the camera's lens, dashingly beautiful in his dark suit.

There was another wedding photo. In this, the girl had become a woman, a mother, in a simple calf-length dress and matching little hat, a small bouquet of white roses in her hand. The man in the dark suit next to her the opposite of her first husband – much shorter, a little on the heavy side, fair-haired and fair-skinned, friendly eyes behind oval glasses that gave him a somewhat owlish appearance. She remembered how Mick had refused to be photographed with her and his new stepfather on that day.

There was a third photo on her dresser, a large framed head shot of Mick as a seven-year-old, unsmiling, lips slightly open as if he was about to speak, facing the camera candidly, much like his father in the wedding photo.

For a long time, she had been disappointed that Mick didn't seem to have inherited much of his father's traits except the striking resemblance of face and hair, colouring and build. Suddenly she found that she was now able to see the soft side of Henry in her son. Why hadn't she realized that earlier?

Inside Henry's good-naturedly boisterous shell, beneath the mischief and laughter, the flirting and joking, there had been a very sensitive and highly vulnerable layer he hardly ever let anyone see.

Certainly, Mick was much more pensive by nature than his dad had been and far less sociable, but the natural way he cared for his little sisters was very much the way his father had cared for him. Henry's loud mouth and biting, frequently sarcastic wit had given way to gentle affection, even sentimentality, more often than not when he was alone with his family.

The little carvings were thoughtful gifts of the kind Henry had also been good at finding. She was still surprised at how good Mick was at his craft – that was one thing he probably got from her own father – but what astonished her much more was how well the girls' little animals matched their personalities. The graceful, slim seahorse with its large eyes and fine features for tall, thin, quick-witted Jess and the plump, friendly dolphin with his cute smile for rotund, sweet-natured Janie.

Alice treasured all her little memories of Mick and his sisters. He was so good with the girls, telling them stories, playing games with them, building that ridiculously large snowman, teaching them to make snow angels, patiently enduring their chatter, quietly intervening when they started to quarrel with each other. A word from him usually sufficed where she herself often coaxed, scolded and threatened in vain.

She would never forget the sight she had encountered in the early morning of Christmas Day when she went looking for the girls who had disappeared from their beds and found both of them draped over their brother's lanky frame in a tangle of arms and legs and long white nightgowns in a bed that hardly offered enough space for three.

Or the lovely image of Mick on the piano stool shortly afterwards, still in his blue striped pajamas. How he had hurried downstairs with her without even thinking of putting on some proper clothes, almost like the child he used to be. How he had played everyone's favourite carols at home and sung along in church in that voice that was so much like his father's now, a slightly gravelly, but confident and full tenor.

The next scene that came to her mind still made her wince. How fiercely he had taken on Dorothy at the lunch table. She had feared the worst when her hot-headed son clashed with her uptight sister-in-law, but everyone except Dorothy had recovered quickly from the incident. The men seemed to have secretly enjoyed Mick's outburst. And, although she could never possibly tell him so, deep down she had felt a certain pride of Mick, defending his sisters so staunchly.

If Alice was honest, Dorothy had deserved the talking-to both she and Dan hadn't dared give her for the sake of family peace. She had never liked George's humourless wife who always made her feel the contempt for her humble origins that lay immediately underneath the thin layer of prim politeness displayed outwardly.

Dan walked into the room, also clad in a plaid dressing gown, looking harried. "I had to separate the girls", he said. "They were about to gouge each other's eyes out over a silly doll's dress."

Alice rolled her eyes. "Thanks for taking care of that." She kissed him quickly on the cheek and shook her head in irritation about her daughters. "They have been impossible since Mick left, both of them. Not that I blame them … but still all that bickering is beginning to get on my nerves."

"Mine too, but it's no wonder they are so down at the mouth after all the fun they had with their big brother. Speaking of Mick – he has really grown up, hasn't he?"

"Oh, yes", Alice sighed. "It feels strange to see your boy turn into a man. And such a handsome one, too."

"He gets that from his mom", Dan said with a twinkle in his eye. "What are you going to wear tonight, my love?"

"Wait and see", Alice replied, smiling, and went through into the little adjoining dressing room to do her hair and face and get dressed.

When she was finished pinning up her hair – which she still wore long because she had never found the courage to get one of those fashionable short haircuts – and applying some make-up, she took off her dressing gown and studied herself in the mirror for a moment. Three pregnancies had left her a little soft around the middle, but apart from that she was quite satisfied with what she saw – slender, shapely limbs, a graceful neck, breasts neither large nor small but still fairly firm for her age and not too many lines on her face.

She opened the closet, freed the blue silk-satin gown from its protective sheath and enjoyed the caress of its cool smooth surface on her skin as she slid it on.

Dan popped into the room in his socks and shirttails, buttoning his collar and cuffs as he walked. "Have you seen my tie, love?" he asked.

"It's here in the closet, I think", she answered casually, focused on her dress.

Dan had finished buttoning up and stood watching his wife for a moment. "You're looking particularly beautiful tonight, my love", he said with heartfelt admiration. Alice's had never been a flashy kind of attractiveness, but she was one of those women whose beauty increases with age. Now, at thirty-six, she was a mature, radiant woman with not a trace of grey in her glossy brown hair and a fair, creamy complexion. Dan could hardly take his gaze off her in the pale blue dress that matched her eyes perfectly.

Alice stepped into her shoes, briefly thinking how inappropriate they were for the snowy weather, and returned into the bedroom to get out her jewelry case. The silver-sapphire necklace would go well with her dress, the exquisite drop-shaped earrings showed off her long neck nicely when she wore her hair pinned up.

The contents of a third velvet-lined little box would make the set complete. She opened it for the first time in a long while, but she found that she couldn't bring herself to take the ring from its little cushion, the ring that had left a permanent imprint on her son's face.

Hastily, she closed the lid on the small case and decided to wear her classical string of pearls and matching earrings instead.

The moment she had fastened the second earring, Dan came from the dressing room, suited up, black shoes gleaming. He stood beside her in front of her dressing-table mirror for a moment. "A nice couple, those two", he said, pointing at their reflection in the glass.

"Indeed", she said. "Those two are going to have fun tonight." Now that she had finished dressing, she was looking forward to an evening of pleasant entertainment while the girls were safely left in the care of Joanne, the eldest daughter of Alice's best friend Ella Dawson.

There was a timid knock on the door. "Come on in!" Dan called out.

Jess and Janie scuttled in. They had obviously made up after their fierce fight. "Oh, Mommy, Daddy, you look so beautiful!" Jess blurted out.

"Yes, just like a king and queen!" Janie added solemnly.

"Oh, thank you, love", Dan replied with a little curtsy. "Have a nice evening with Joanne, my little princesses. See you tomorrow in the morning!" He stooped to kiss both of the girls on the cheeks. Alice did the same, telling the girls not to fuss when Joanne put them into bed and not to wheedle her into letting them stay up until midnight.

As soon as the babysitter had arrived, Dan and Alice left the house. He offered her his arm to make sure she wouldn't slip on the snow in her evening shoes on the way to the car. It was a cold, clear evening, and she shivered despite the warm coat she wore over her thin dress.

The cold was forgotten the second they entered the Coopers' house. Music and laughter greeted them when Sandra opened the door. It was a fantastic night with good food and dancing and singing, and plenty of drink. Alfred had raided his excellent wine cellar and popped the corks of some very fine bottles of champagne at midnight.

When the party ended at three in the morning, Alice's feet hurt from all the dancing, and Dan had been singing so much, his usual inhibitions mitigated by the wine, that his throat felt sore.

"Best New Year's Eve ever!" he declared as they said goodbye to their hosts.

Alice, already safely ensconced on the passenger seat by then, giggled wildly when he narrowly avoided slipping on a small patch of ice on the sidewalk before he got into the car.

"This is no laughing matter!" Dan said sternly as he got into the driver's seat, then dissolved into laughter himself.

Alice smiled at his exceptionally giddy behaviour and tried to stifle a yawn at the same time, but she didn't quite succeed.

"Fine, then, party's over and my lady's tired. Let's get going." Dan turned on the ignition.

Alice dreamily admired the peaceful surroundings as they drove through the night. A full moon was high up in the sky, making the snow glitter in its cool silver light.

On their way through the woods, she detected a sudden movement from the corner of her eye, and let out a startled cry.

Dan cursed heartily and slammed on the brakes. A futile attempt. The car spun out of control on the icy, slightly sloping ground.

Alice wanted to scream but couldn't utter a sound.

Dan broke into a cold sweat and tried to countersteer, to no avail. The car kept skidding straight on, ploughing through thick snow, and finally smashed into a large elm tree.

The headlights died along with the engine, leaving an eerie silence.

There was no sound at all, no movement, only moonlight glistening off a snowy landscape, marked with fresh deer prints, and the fine spray of tiny glass shards in the hair of a man and woman sitting far too still.


	2. Waning Moon

Grandma was pouring the tea at the breakfast table when a shrill noise jarred us. It took us all a while to realize what it was – my grandparents had installed a telephone only a few weeks ago and none of us had yet quite got used to its loud ringing.

Grandma set the teapot down on its coaster very carefully and hurried into the hall.

"Who might be calling us early on New Year's Day?" Grandpa wondered. "Hope it's not that nutter again." There had been some prank calls recently, heightening Grandpa's misgivings about that new contraption on the hall table.

"Maybe it's the girls calling to wish us a happy new year", I suggested. Jess and Janie loved hearing my voice on the phone. I could imagine them eagerly begging Mom to let them phone me.

A pained, almost inhuman cry from the hall made my heart race and my hands go cold. Grandpa blanched and got up so hastily that he knocked over his chair. I picked it up and stumbled after him.

Grandma had collapsed against the wall by the telephone and was crying, loudly, desperately. She had dropped the receiver on the table, leaving it to emit an unnerving beep. I put it back into its cradle to stop the noise while Grandpa tried to get her to talk.

She kept shouting unintelligibly until he seized her by the shoulders and shook her, only once, but hard. "What is it, woman? Tell us, for God's sake!"

"Alice", she wailed. I braced myself for the full news, waiting until the next fit of unbridled weeping subsided and she was able to speak again.

"There was an accident", she finally managed to cry out in a loud, throaty voice. "With the car. Dan is badly injured and Alice … Alice is …" She broke off and flung herself into Grandpa's arms, slumping against his chest, sobbing harder than ever.

She didn't have to say the word aloud for us to understand.

Grandpa held her in his arms, stony-faced, helplessly patting her back.

Even more helplessly, I stood by, unable to do anything.

I had a thousand questions, yet no answer in the world would make any difference now.

Except one.

"What … what about Jess and Janie?" I asked shakily.

"They weren't there", Grandma said. "They were at home."

I leaned against the frame of the kitchen door and closed my eyes, feeling the world sway beneath my feet for a moment. Relief and shock were drowning each other out, rendering me totally numb.

I felt nothing. Nothing at all. I thought that I ought to feel something, but I didn't.

* * *

><p>Just a few days after I had returned home, we took the long train trip in the opposite direction, my grandparents and I, silent, shocked.<p>

I was still in that terrifying state of emotional emptiness. No tears. No feelings I could have put my finger on. That scared the wits out of me. Weren't you supposed to break down when your mother died? To be overwhelmed by grief and sorrow and regret?

All that I could think of was how stupid I had been to not even consider she could die way too soon. Strange for someone who lost his father so early in life. I should have known how quickly and easily life's little flame can be extinguished.

And sometimes, for a few dreadful, agonizing moments, there was something entirely different, shockingly inappropriate: the thought that now nobody would expect me to fulfil her high-flung dreams, to live up to her high hopes.

I hated myself for thinking that, but I couldn't make it go away, just as I couldn't drag up the grief that must exist somewhere, locked up deep within me, from its hiding place and finally _feel_ the loss.

What hurt me almost physically was to see my grandparents, both of them looking ten years older over night. I didn't know what was worse, the quiet tears Grandma had resorted to or Grandpa's drawn face and pained silence, his grief mingling with regret for the lost chance at making up with his only daughter.

"If only we'd have agreed to come down more often", he said again and again. "If only we'd have agreed to join them for Christmas."

When we finally arrived after what seemed to have been weeks on the train, Dan's father collected us at the station. It was the first time since the wedding that he and my grandparents met. The men greeted each other with a handshake, nodding at each other silently. Grandpa Cleaver held Grandma's hands in his for a moment and quietly said, "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Walsh. She was wonderful."

This set Grandma's tears flowing again. Grandpa hugged her a little clumsily while Grandpa Cleaver embraced me and said, "Mick, my boy. I'm so sorry. I know there's nothing I can possibly say to comfort you. I just want you to know that if you need any help at any time, all you have to do is ask."

I was surprised by this generous offer but determined not to take him up on it. "Thank you", I said anyway, going on to load the suitcase I'd been carrying into the trunk of Grandpa Cleaver's car.

The dinner served upon our arrival was a dreary affair. The general mood of grief and sorrow was not helped by Dorothy's inevitable presence. She had been quick to take matters into her own hands at her brother-in-law's house and had installed herself in the spare bedroom for an indefinite period of time. This unwanted intruder distressed the girls in their shaken-up state even more.

Both of them were confused and tearful. I would have loved to spend some time alone with them, but as soon as we had entered the house, Dorothy had commanded us to the dinner table.

Janie broke into tears when the soup was served.

"Eat your soup before it goes cold, Jane, and stop that sniffling", Dorothy scolded.

Janie looked at her, big-eyed and stunned. Grandma reached over to wipe Janie's tears away with her napkin and gave Dorothy a dirty look across the table. "Try to eat a bit, darling", she told Janie softly.

The little one obediently reached for her spoon and dipped it into the soup, but she choked as she tried to swallow.

"Now, Jane! So many poor children out there would be glad if they had a nice hot soup like that!" Dorothy chided her again.

"Give it to them, then!" Janie murmured defiantly, put down her spoon and folded her arms over her chest.

"What was that, young lady?" Dorothy's head reared up like a cobra ready to strike.

"Nothing, Mrs. Cleaver. Nothing you needed to hear", said my grandfather calmly. "Leave that soup if you can't eat it now, Janie. It's alright."

Dorothy's eyes seemed about to pop out of her face, but she restrained herself. The rest of the dinner went by in tense silence except for Grandpa Cleaver's rather one-sided attempts at polite conversation with my grandparents.

The funeral was held the next day. It was another of those clear winter days with a flawless blue sky, sunny, but very cold.

At church, I felt very uneasy sitting in the front row, sensing the congregation's pitiful stares at the back of my head. The small church was filled to the last seat. As the minister said in his eulogy, Mom had been a well-known and popular woman in the parish, so everyone had come to pay their last respects to her. I hated having all those strangers around, witnessing what should have been a private, intimate ceremony in my opinion.

Involuntarily, I imagined the whispering and murmuring that must be going on in the back pews. _Those poor children, motherless. And who knows what will become of their father. They say he's doing rather badly. He may never be able to work again. Just look at that son of hers. Yes, that's him with that long black hair. Couldn't even get a haircut for his poor mother's funeral. But what do you expect._ And so on and so on.

Janie began to fidget next to me. Dorothy noticed her misdemeanour immediately and told her to sit still.

"I can't", she whispered. "I need to …"

Before she could finish, Dorothy had rapped her sharply about the head with her bony knuckles for talking in church.

Janie gave a little startled squeak. She had a peculiar look on her face, embarrassed and surprised at the same time.

"You …", I fumed at Dorothy, only pulling myself together because I didn't want to cause a scandal in church. I reached for Janie and sat her on my knee, gently stroking the maltreated little head she leaned against my chest while the service rushed by me.

After a few minutes, I realized that my knee felt clammy, somehow.

Oh, _crap_. Suddenly I knew what Janie had needed earlier. And what she didn't need any more now.

I leaned over Jess, who was sitting to my other side, and tugged on Grandma's sleeve. "Grandma … Janie just had a little … accident and needs a fresh dress", I whispered. "Would you …?"

She understood at once, nodded sympathetically, got up and took Janie home to get her changed. They were back in time for the burial, but Dorothy shot them poisoned glances nevertheless.

Jess clutched my hand all the time we stood by the open grave in the icy air. She was so very brave, my little girl, remaining calm and composed even as she shed her tears quietly. The large crowd that had gathered all over the small graveyard didn't seem to unnerve her half as much as me. A couple of times, she squeezed my hand as if to reassure herself I was still there.

Janie was on Grandpa Cleaver's arm now, looking at me over his shoulder questioningly. I wondered how much she really understood of what was happening around her. Did she realize Mom was gone for good? It felt unreal, even to me.

After the ceremony, an endless stream of people filed by to offer their condolences. Empty phrases, mostly. Well-meant, no doubt, but not fit to give the slightest bit of comfort. At least not for me.

Jess began to shiver violently in the cold, and Janie was weeping again, overwhelmed by everything. The line of mourners waiting to shake our hands was still long, and I made a spontaneous decision.

I hoisted Janie up on my arm, grabbed Jess's hand again and took them away from all the hollow words and people who pretended to commiserate but couldn't possibly feel our pain. Dorothy would give me hell for yet another breach of convention, but I didn't care.

I set Janie down outside the graveyard wall and told the girls to help me build another snowman. I knew this was highly inappropriate right after our mother's funeral, but I couldn't stand the sight of them enduring meaningless condolences with chattering teeth and tear-stained cheeks. It was far too much they had to cope with anyway, so let them have a little bit of fun.

Some of the mourners actually smiled at us as they left the churchyard.

Dorothy, of course, was not amused. She gave me quite an earful later that day after all the guests from the funeral feast were out of the house and the girls were getting ready for bed, ranting about my fisherman's manners and what a bad example my insolent behaviour was setting for my sisters. "You are such a disgrace for your poor mother, Michael, God rest her soul. Poor Alice tried so hard to make you a gentleman. All that effort wasted. And just look at you with your shaggy hair and that vulgar tan. Next thing we know you'll be sporting some garish tattoo", she spat.

"Good idea", I said with an ironic smile. The irony was wasted on her, though, she just launched into another hissy fit. I ignored a good part of it, only perking up again when she changed the subject.

"But what's to be expected of somebody of your origins. Living with those ordinary people. They may mean well, but they are very simple, your grandparents. They are not familiar with the rules of society. I can't even blame them, coming from that fishing village. No wonder they don't know how to behave properly."

"Oh, come on. This isn't exactly New York or London either", I exploded. "And when did tormenting little girls start to pass for good behaviour?"

"You may think I am tormenting them, but in my opinion, those girls need a strong hand, especially now that there is no one else around to take care of them." Her self-righteous tone made me want to smash her smug bigoted face.

"It's a fine idea of education you've got", I shouted. "You don't even have children to prove you right. Or wrong."

She inhaled sharply.

"It's probably just as well that you don't have kids. I'd feel very sorry for the poor creatures."

I must have hit a nerve. Her cold mask of rigid composure was lifted for a moment to show the first hot rush of emotion I had ever witnessed in her pinched face as she shouted, _"Get out of my sight!"_

I didn't budge. "I will be happy to", I said. "If you promise to keep your hands off the girls. Scold them for any little thing if you must, but don't _ever_ lay a hand on them again."

I turned on my heel and left her alone, racing upstairs to knock on my grandparents' door. They were staying in Mom and Dan's bedroom, which was a strange arrangement considering the circumstances, but the only spare bedroom had been occupied by Dorothy.

Grandma was huddled on the bed with my mother's dressing gown in her hands, burying her nose in the fabric that may still have held a whiff of Mom's perfume. She looked up at me desperately with puffy, red-rimmed eyes.

"It still smells of her", she said tonelessly. "I feel like a silly old woman, sniffing her clothes like that, but they still smell of her."

"That's alright", I said, sitting next to her on the bed, awkwardly touching her shoulder.

Grandpa came in. "What did you do to that dragon downstairs, Mick? She was roaring loudly enough to be heard up here."

I tilted my head sideways and raised my eyebrows without answering. Instead, I asked, "Can't we take the girls to Maine to live with us? I can't stand the thought of leaving them alone with Dorothy. It makes me sick, really sick."

Both of them pondered my suggestion for a while. Grandpa finally said, "I wouldn't mind having them with us, but they still have a father who's got a say in where they live."

"I spoke to old Dr. Cleaver about Dan today", Grandma added. "He says he will be fine again in a while. His injuries are grave but not life-threatening. It will take some time but he'll recover. Much as I hate the thought of leaving those two sweethearts behind with that horrible woman, we can't just uproot them. They have lived here all their lives. We mustn't forget that."

I opened my mouth to protest, but Grandma went on softly, "They haven't got that close link with our home that you have, Mickey love. You're a Mainer. They are not. They were born here. It's where all their friends are and their school and everything. They aren't even very close to me or Grandpa because we've hardly ever seen them. And we can't just take them away from their father. That would be a very cruel thing to do. He has already lost his wife, and he will need his girls around when he comes home from hospital. Just as they will need their dad."

I had to admit defeat. She was right, of course, rationally speaking.

And yet, when we got on the evening train back home a few days later, it was the first time I was not happy to leave Missouri.

No, that's not entirely correct. It still was not the place that held my heart, but the two little figures on the snowy platform in their identical grey winter coats and red scarves.

When they had faded out of sight, I leaned my head against the cold windowpane and stared blankly out into the snowy landscape that glittered in the light of the waning moon.

I felt that a chapter of my life had closed and wondered when and where I'd see my sisters again. I had a feeling that it would be a long time until then.


End file.
